Winter Sand

I felt it in a dream, beneath my feet. Hard like sidewalk with a damp chill grasping at the lingering warmth from before I took my socks off.

Water seeps up motivating a step back – or closer – to waves headed my way. Soft foam, as summer sprays a-glistened, roll-in secretly with shivers clung from northern ice suspended.

Once limber seaweed has stiffened tight and birds call disappointed in the sand bars offerings. They will keep complaining and circling in the air just to keep veins beneath protective feathers pumping.

Why linger here? There are better places to be cold. Sleepy little towns covered in blankets of snow, where fireplaces and feather blankets await in the beaconing North. Naked toes in bed together- yet mine are here, cold and wet and unsure of which direction to run from lonely rhythms of waves rolling incessantly.

I’m shivering, sandy and sinking. All this action yet no progress? Just wave dancing over wave and people standing with people along the edge sighing at the sunset. Again and again. Cold waves reflect a pretty blue- a strengthened draw – to entice more pretending that there’s warmth enough here. I’ve known it’s not so. It’s time to go.

One more good look at the past’s familiar horizon, another gaze at the cloudless sky of solitude. Sand clings underfoot as I walk over to that old rusted pipe and rinse my toes enough to…wake up and smile and snuggle up with you- where warmth is always welcome and kindness softens every step towards togetherness.

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